


It's a Country Thing

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [61]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hank Williams - Freeform, Musicians, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: A drabble based on a photo submitted by jglthiddybcumby - Abby with Tom at the Wheatland Festival 2014.





	It's a Country Thing

**It’s a Country Thing**

Saturday night turned out to be a lot more fun than I ever expected, especially so far from home, away from my routine, away from normalcy. Since I was between productions back at home and my recent engagement to Tom, I was his tag along nearly everywhere he went, Bangor, Brighton, London, and now Michigan in America. Naturally I didn’t mind being with Tom, spending every waking and sleeping moment with him, but the travelling didn’t suit me well.

Uncontrollably excited as he was prone to get, my beautiful man dug into a new role with two feet, two hands, and his entire head, fully dedicated, fully immersed, fully committed to learning and living everything he needed to learn and know to play Hank Williams, a significant country singer icon. We had taken a small road trip through Alabama before landing in Remus to get a feel of the south, enjoying grits and woken up by a rooster.

This journey wasn’t my taste, but I loved watching Tom ingest everything he could about the culture, the locations, even the accent that I had some difficulty understanding. Taking the bull by the horns, matador Tom was disciplined and in control of every bit of it, practicing his chords on the guitar, imitating the accent, learning how to sing with Rodney Cromwell. He’d come so far in such a short time, and I was so proud.

Plopping down on the Radisson’s rather firm king-size mattress Sunday morning, I happily sighed, snugging into Tom’s red flannel shirt. The fabric smelled of him, after he performed in it earlier, and I simply couldn’t get enough of it. Reflective light from the window made my engagement ring sparkle against the eggshell ceiling, and I squealed to myself in the large suite, bringing the ring up to my face for another thorough examination.

“Abby,” Tom announced into the suite, opening the door in the other room. “I brought coffee!”

I sat up, letting the sides of the flannel fly open, ignoring all modesty. Lazy morning sex proved to be the perfect therapy for homesickness with Tom as prescribing and administering physician, I was well on my way to recovery. I managed to slip into a pair of black knickers and Tom’s shirt after a therapy session this morning before he’d gone to a meeting with Rodney. Taking off at a run, I skipped into the other room and into my man’s arms.

Two hot steaming grande caramel macchiatos sat on the coffee table waiting for my man and me to inhale. He’d also brought muffins for me as his was a breakfast meeting with Rodney.  

“You brought me Starbucks, you sweet, sweet man,” I mused sweetly, hiking up on my tippy toes to bestow him with another kiss of thanks.

His eyebrow lifted in question, mocking me in his way, “Would you let me back in the suite if it was a substitute?" 

I pretended to consider for a few silent moments, before humming, "Hmm, probably not.”

With a hardy kiss, a squeeze of my bum, and a longing stare at my breasts, Tom sat with me on the sofa for my breakfast. To keep his focus on me and to take full advantage of his distraction of my lady parts, I swung my bare legs across his lap. Masquerading, I asked, “How was Rodney this morning?”

Caressing up my leg, his hand found its way up the inside of my thigh above the knee, his thumb brushing along the smooth sensitive flesh there, just shy of my erogenous zone. Though with that sensation, I would've sworn he found a new one to drive me mad with lust. 

I sipped at my coffee, reveling in the caffeine seeping into my bloodstream, tickling my system to wakefulness, and enjoying the warm beverage as it warmed me. Functioning without Starbucks in the morning was nearly impossible for me, and Tom was well aware of it.

“He’s an incredible mentor,” he said on automatic, his gaze watching his thumb along the inside of my thigh. “He’s taught me a lot, and gave me notes based on last night’s performance.”

“Brilliant. If I haven’t told you already, I’m so proud of you, Tom.” I placed my hand along his cheek to give him the full treatment of my meaning.

His blue eyes shifted up to mine with the compliment, touched by my saying so. With a gruff insistence, he said, “Say it again, Abby.”

Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, I repeated it, “I’m so proud of you, my beautiful man. You did a very brave thing, performing in front of that crowd yesterday, and I’m so proud of you.”

Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, his chest expanding with confidence at the compliment. His hand deftly disappeared within the flannel to take hold of my breast, molding around the flesh. 

I raked one hand through his golden hair, loving that his natural color grew back in. “I’m going to promise you something, Tom,” I said seriously, pulling back a little to look into his eyes. His eyes searched mine, his full attention on me and the heavy atmosphere that settled around us.

With all the sincerity I could muster, I swore, “I want to promise you that I will never leave you with eight kids, two dogs, a raccoon, a chinchilla, a leaky roof and a broken down pickup truck.”

Tom howled with laughter, his head thrown back and his tongue poking out between his teeth. I giggled along to his hysterical fit of laughter, one that lasted a long time. When he finally settled again, his grin practically split his face apart. “Good to know, baby… Noted. Whatever made you promise that.”

I shrugged, “It’s a country thing!”

“In the words of The Bellamy Brothers, if I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” Coffee and muffins were quickly forgotten as he carried me back to the bedroom for another doctor’s appointment.

As he covered me with his body, pressing me into the mattress, I said, “I could get used to this country thing.”


End file.
